


The King's Silk

by thegreatgayjatsby



Category: 18th Century CE RPF, Hamilton - Miranda
Genre: Anal Sex, Canon-Era, Crossdressing, Dirty Talk, Emotional Sex, Established Relationship, George is rich and is more than willing to spend money on Sam, Lowkey mentioned period-typical homophobia, M/M, Oral Sex, Praise Kink, Smut, corsets
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-14
Updated: 2016-11-14
Packaged: 2018-08-31 01:13:59
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,159
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8556940
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thegreatgayjatsby/pseuds/thegreatgayjatsby
Summary: Samuel gets the idea to dress up in "female" underclothes, and George is more than thrilled with the circumstances. He shows his gratitude through gratuitous sex.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Free Thoughts on the Proceedings of Kingbury](https://archiveofourown.org/works/8530660) by [thegreatgayjatsby](https://archiveofourown.org/users/thegreatgayjatsby/pseuds/thegreatgayjatsby). 



> I wrote this as a response chapter for my fic "Free Thoughts on the Proceedings of Kingbury", which is essentially a 50 prompt challenge. This is chapter 12, and I am publishing it as a free-standing piece because it is long enough to do so and this pairing needs more good smut. So here we go.

“Samuel, please come out, I swear there is nothing for me to mock. And I wouldn’t, if there were.” George’s voice was beginning to take on a whining quality, and Samuel managed a little twinge of amusement at His Majesty under the thorough embarrassment he was currently experiencing.

This had been his idea originally, but he was finding it very difficult to go through with it, now that he would be faced with the King’s possible disapproval. The scrawny bishop looked at himself critically in the mirror above George’s vanity. He was locked up in the King’s en suite privy, and he couldn’t find it within himself to leave.

The object of his anxiety, of course, was the set of clothes, or rather, lack of, that he had gotten himself into. A pair of lacy underthings and a set of garters and stockings, topped off with loosely-laced corset. He couldn’t tighten the corset up himself, but it was on him, and that was what mattered. The silks were in that deep crimson that George favored so, and Samuel had purchased them that way on purpose. He had selected them carefully from a catalog in a downtown London lingerie store, telling the shopkeep he was making a purchase for his lady. He supposed he was George’s lady now, in a sense.

Samuel snorted a little, turning aside from his reflection and straightening his garters. He, the Queen? What a thought. He ignored the little bolt of heat that arose in his stomach at the notion.

“Sammy,” George’s voice was higher than usual, a petulant tone in it, and Sam grinned, entirely too amused at His Majesty’s impatience.   
Instead of deigning the comment worthy of a response, he nudged the door open and slowly stepped out from the privy, keeping his eyes focused on his stocking-clad toes. He took another little inch forward, into the patch of fading evening sunlight filtering in through George’s window. The King himself was silent for a good long moment.

Samuel fought the rising urge to flee back into the privy and slam the door.

He heard George’s footsteps, each single and calculated against the floor. The King’s heels clicked, and Sam felt his stomach flip with nerves. George’s presence was always so intimidating, and although Samuel knew George well, he still couldn’t help but be a little frightened of the King.

George made a slow circle about Sam, then stopped about a foot in front of him and drew himself up to his full height, surveying the bishop like he was a piece of meat in a butcher’s window. Samuel swallowed tightly, mouth dry. His eyes kept solidly on his toes.

The King inhaled audibly and raised his hand to ghost his fingers under Samuel’s chin. He raised Samuel’s face so he could meet his bishop’s eyes, his own raw with hunger. Samuel swallowed again, speaking in a meek voice when he finally summoned the courage to do so.

“Do you like it?”

George’s face remained open, pupils blown, high cheeks red with heat. His Majesty opened his mouth, than closed it, seeming unable to develop a proper sentence. Instead, he gave a curt nod and drew Sam to him in a rough kiss.

Samuel found himself suddenly crowded up against the wall, George’s hands substantial on his waist. He could feel the King’s fingers just under the lip of his corset, and Samuel shuddered, kissing back with wanton abandon. His Majesty trembled a little as Sam wrapped his arms about his neck and slotted their bodies together. George’s mouth came away from the bishop’s in order to instead raise a line of harsh red marks along Samuel’s collarbone.

Sam positively whimpered, his hips shifting a little against George’s thigh. The King growled lowly, the only sound he had made thus far, and Samuel gasped as His Majesty broke the skin of his shoulder in a possessive bite.

“G-George,” He started, surprised at how weak his voice sounded, even to him.

“You’re heavenly.” George responded intensely, drawing back minutely to catch Sam’s eye. “I want to take you apart.”

Samuel’s lips formed an o, and he nodded his consent, hands gathering the fabric of George’s jacket. George smiled broadly and scooped Samuel into his arms, turning them and moving across the room to deposit them on his bed.

The bishop flushed darkly when George looked down upon him like he was something to consume. He had seen George like this before, deep in the night during their primal acts together, but to see him this way in the light was thrilling. He reached up to the King and gripped him by his cravat, tugging him further up along the bed and atop himself.

George settled between Samuel’s legs, his hands grazing the insides of the bishop’s thighs. He kept his nails careful, only scratching slightly and watching for Sam’s reaction. The smaller of them kept his hands busy undoing George’s cravat, the lace making the King’s throat inaccessible.

His Majesty placed a line of fervent kisses down Sam’s neck to where his corset began, and his hands traveled up Samuel’s sides to gather the lacings of the corset up. When he pulled to tighten the thing, Samuel whined, and George’s eyes briefly flickered up to ensure this was an acceptable course of action. He found the bishop’s lips parted slightly in a stolen breath, and the King grinned before promptly tugging again.

It was slow work, tightening the corset from this angle, and when George tied it off, it was just tight enough to impede Sam’s breathing a little, but nowhere near as tight as it could go. His Majesty gripped Sam’s waist, watching as the bishop removed his cravat and tossed it aside before moving on to the buttons of his jacket and vest.

“I want to see you like this again.” George rasped out in between kisses to Sam’s neck, which, at this point, was thoroughly bruised with lovemarks. “I want to see you with the corset on proper. I’ll have a maid help you into it. We’ll get you a gown.”

He rambled his sentences out into Samuel’s skin, Sam meanwhile fighting with the King’s clothes. When George pulled away to shirk out of his jacket, vest, and shirt, he murmured, “I’d like that. Could you take me to court? Show me off?”

“You’d be my Queen.” George affirmed, undoing the laces to his breeches and kicking them off. His movements were rushed, his hands returning to Sam’s thighs as if any moment without contact burned His Majesty’s skin. “I’ll have you before the court, if you wish. Show them that you’re mine.”

He punctuated the last syllable by unclipping the garters from the stockings. “I’d like to see in these, always. I’ve heard tell they’re more comfortable than pants.” His tone was a little thoughtful, even as he scooted down the bed to dip his head between Samuel’s thighs.

Sam yelped and his hands flew to bury in George’s hair, fingers tightening in the strands George kept cropped for his wig. “George!” His cry came out watery, and he blinked furiously. This was not the time to cry. This was a happy moment, and he would banish his sensitivities to when they were finished.

George promptly distracted him by mouthing over the damp spot in Samuel’s panties. Samuel’s head hit the pillow with some force as his eyes rolled back, the pressure of George’s hands groping his inner thighs and his mouth on his cock proving to be almost too much for him.

The King laved his tongue under the head of Sam’s cock, thoroughly wetting the fabric there before drawing back and casually tearing the thin silk. Samuel made to comment on the price of those damned things, but George’s devilish tongue was already working him back into a stupor.

Sam’s fingers tightened in George’s hair on a particularly good pass of the King’s tongue, and George hummed in response. The bishop squirmed, legs hitching up and pausing, then wrapping around George’s shoulders. His Majesty drew off of Samuel’s cock with a wet sound, eyes dark as he looked up. Samuel felt breathless, in part because of the corset’s ribbing, partly because of the sheer desire in George’s gaze.

George reached across Sam’s waist to fumble in the nightstand’s drawer for a moment before procuring a vial of oil. Samuel swallowed, hips canting upwards merely at the sight. George grinned and set the vial down on the bed beside them, returning to his position low between Sam’s legs. The bishop watching with interest through hooded eyes, which slipped closed as George licked an unhesitant stripe over his entrance.

Samuel wallowed in the sensations as George worked him open with first his tongue, than a finger. He was so far gone by the time George added another digit that the burn was as pleasurable as the rest of George’s actions. Then the King’s fingers crooked and Samuel was crying out, blathering on for George to please hurry up in the Lord’s name he was going to kill him if he didn’t fuck him right now—

And George’s voice was soothing as he withdrew his fingers, teasing that Samuel should “Be careful with such harsh words, love. An act of violence against the King is treason” as he slicked himself up. Samuel hitched his legs higher up around George’s waist as His Majesty settled into place, his cockhead nudging at Samuel’s entrance.

The bishop ground his hips forward, and George responded in term by pressing in in one slow movement until he bottomed out. Samuel didn’t realize he was crying until George was thumbing the tears away and kissing the crown of his forehead, hands shaking a little as the King braced himself above Sam.

Samuel was grateful for George’s patience, his intrusion, as always, near proving to be too much for Sam to handle. The bishop took his sweet time in adjusting, making a few little movements of his hips to accept the King’s cock more amicably. When he finally whispered against George’s cheek that he could move, George nearly shook with the effort it took to control himself.

The King angled his hips slightly and withdrew, then pressed back. Fireworks went off behind Sam’s eyes. It was practically unrealistic how well His Majesty knew the bishop’s body, able to find his sweet spot so quickly. He must have said this aloud, because George was laughing as he repeated the motion. Samuel’s nails dug into George’s shoulders, then raked down his back when the King shifted again and slammed home.

Samuel desperately hooked one ankle over the other, raising his hips to meet George’s as they made love. Their eyes met briefly before another shock of pleasure sent Sam’s head back onto the pillows. George started to speak then, talking in a certain voice about how beautiful and perfect and handsome Sam was.

The bishop came in a hot stripe across George’s belly when the King told him he was going to buy him whatever underclothes he wanted and fuck him in all of them. George followed soon after, sinking his teeth into Samuel’s shoulder and muffling his shout as he buried himself in the other.

The two lay together, entwined and panting, as the King’s cock softened and slipped from Samuel’s lax body. George touched his forehead to Sam’s unmarred shoulder, breathing heavily and still hovering a little above the other. It took them a good amount of time to shift until George could withdraw from between Samuel’s thighs and lay down.

Sam pillowed his head on George’s shoulder, eyes closed, his chest heaving under the restrictions of his corset. George’s fingers found the ties and began to dutifully loosen the cords binding Samuel. The King rolled him onto his stomach, pausing to wipe Samuel’s spend from his stomach with a discarded article of clothing before finishing his work in undoing the corset.

That item was tossed off the bed with a satisfying snick of silk on skin, and George’s arms gathered Samuel back up into an embrace. Sam hummed sweetly and rested there, George’s breath warm on the back of his shoulder. The King placed a kiss there, nuzzling, and Sam spoke.

“I’ve been buying the wrong underwear.” He mumbled, a little of his shyness returning as he rolled to face George.

The King arched a brow and kissed Samuel lightly. “I’ll reimburse you for that purchase. Then we’ll buy you more. Bring a catalog home, I’ll pick something out for you.”

Sam laughed a little and hugged himself closer to George. There were, of course, perks to being in a relationship with royalty. “You spoil me, Your Highness.”  
“’Tis worth it.” George answered nonchalantly, curling one hand in Sam’s hair and settling in for sleep.

Samuel followed suit, curling close and smiling into the column of George’s throat. “I’m glad you like it.”

“I like everything about you.”


End file.
